


About fucking time

by islasands



Series: Lambski [16]
Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: Love, M/M, Missing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-02
Updated: 2011-12-02
Packaged: 2017-10-26 19:26:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/287009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/islasands/pseuds/islasands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam reflects on his love, and his music.</p>
            </blockquote>





	About fucking time

 “You are so stubborn! I want you to come now.”

 _“No. I am not stubborn.”_

 “You are. What is mine is yours. That’s how it works. You know that.”

 _“I do not want your ‘mine’! I have my own ‘mine’.”_

“Then go and shovel some more fucking snow and hurry up about it!”

 _“See! There is the stubborn one! It is you. ”_

“I want you now, not tomorrow.”

 _“All times are now when there is work to do.”_

"Fuck you. Fuck everything about you. I am suffering. I need you, and you don’t care.”

 _“It is true. I am happy for your suffering.”_

“I love you and it is fucking with my head.”

 _“That is my good news!”_

“I love you and want you in my bed tonight.”

 _“I have to go now. We are leaving.”_

“You should be ashamed of yourself!”

 _“My heart is a glacier, coming to America. Slowly. Certainly. Goodbye.”_

 “Sauli? Sauli? COME BACK HERE!”

 _Adam smiled at the air. In truth he enjoyed their separations. He liked waiting for certainties. And this love, unlike any other he had experienced, had a quality of certainty that had taken him by surprise. No couple bubble. No mutual admiration mirrors. It was just a plain old certainty, so beautifully plain, so unself-conscious, it was like the sun coming up, or a river going one way. Or a fuck that was as unavoidable as rain. Oh God. That rain. His flesh._

 _Yup. It was fair to say Sauli suited him down to the ground – right down to the ordinary, faintly rank smelling, dirt - where they jostled like beetles under a log. Legs in the air. Wings hopelessly beating. Hah!_

 _That’s when music flies! When your life and your love are nothing special. Food, friendship, fucking. Arguing over bullshit. Kissing his cock in the shower. Crying my eyes out at his jokes. Talking at him like a radio till I notice he’s falling asleep. Being totally thrown by the way he cleans up everything; the house, my messy emotions, the conversation. Such a cool, sparkling, oxygenated, intelligence._

 _Let your ‘yes’ be ‘yes’ and your’ no’ be ‘no’.  
_ _Rivers don’t stop to look back at themselves.  
_ _Rain doesn’t balk at falling.  
_ _The moon doesn’t complain when his lover turns his back for a moment.  
_ _That’s when music flies. When there is enough of reality for illusion to count._

“I miss you. What did you do today?”

 _“I killed a bear and took its skin to make for you a soft bed. What did you do?”_

“I wrote a song. It can be our quilt.”

 _“We will be so comfortable.”_

“Talk to me in Finnish. Tell me you miss me.”

 __

 _You know, if I ever_ was _to marry I wouldn’t tell a fucking soul. I don’t want anyone’s hands on him other than my own. Oh okay. Maybe a son’s or daughter’s hands. But the rest of the world can fuck right off. I’ll marry him under the covers, when I have him beneath me, his legs hooked over my shoulders, and his arms above his head, and his face looking up at me desperate with trust. Do you take this man, I’ll say. This man, inside you? This man!_

 _Which is how I feel on stage, come to think of it. Exactly._

“I have finished shovelling snow.”

 _“About fucking time.”_

 

 

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